


Curse of the Were-Owl

by tortoisegirl



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crime Fighting, Gen, Owls, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortoisegirl/pseuds/tortoisegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel may be different now, but he still fights crime.  And Rorschach still likes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curse of the Were-Owl

Rorschach is poised frozen on the fire escape overlooking the dark alley, statue-still, like an ancient guardian reborn in this modern city. He’s staring at a graffiti-scrawled door indistinguishable from the surrounding wall but for the smoother texture, waiting, growing worried.

No, not worried. Tense. Anxious with unreleased adrenaline. He knows the plan, has been rehashing it all night, but no plan is ever foolproof, and the minutes keep dragging as he checks his watch yet again, and his _partner_ is in there…

Suddenly a shriek from inside the building, chillingly inhuman. He straightens and leans forward; this is it. The door flies open spilling a square of yellow light across the alley, quickly followed by a flood of panicked gangsters. Rorschach scans the tangle of activity below him. Leather and skin, flailing limbs and faces seeking the unseen horror that flushed them out here, but Rorschach must wait for a particular figure to appear.

There- a flash of brown and sharp gold. Clinging to the shoulder of a man with a grip brutal enough to draw blood and blood-curdling screams alike- marking the head of the operation, their target.

Rorschach slips down from his perch to join his partner in the heart of the fray, two blurs of streamlined violence and undiluted menace and cool confidence.

\-----

The strobing red and blue lights are swallowed by the twist of narrow streets as the cruisers pull away, sirens silenced in quiet assurance that everything is okay. Rorschach stands a block away under a blanket of darkness, watching chips of rust and paint flake off as an owl worries the beam of a wrought iron gate with its talons.

“Can’t right now. Dawn soon. Have to get back.”

The bird draws itself up, flexes its wings; it’s a mere fraction of the striking five foot span Rorschach has seen before. It cranes its neck upward, looking towards the strips of sky patchworked between rootops, bare human longing alien in the animal eyes.

“Can’t fly forever, Nite Owl,” Rorschach says, gentle and even, and extends an arm in front of the bird.

A subdued hoot, reluctant concession, and the owl shuffles onto Rorschach’s forearm. It’s taking pains to be careful; the wicked talons would cut through even Rorschach’s protective layers if it wanted them to. Rorschach ruffles his fingers through the feathers of the owl’s neck, not liking the downcast expression clear in the deep-hooded face. The bird makes a sound Rorschach has yet to name and closes its eyes.

“Like you better as a human, anyway.”

The owl flutters up to settle on Rorschach’s shoulder. It nuzzles against the side of his face, feathers over latex; under the mask, Rorschach smiles.


End file.
